Winter Song
by blackrumsugarcane
Summary: Draco Malfoy had become one of the Wizarding World's most established Psyche Healers, and was used to being handed the most curious of cases. When Hermione Granger is suddenly ailed with a deteriorating brain, it is up to Draco to figure out how to save her. Failure is not an option.
1. She Rolled In From The Sea

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Song of inspiration is Winter Song, by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles. Story image courtesy of Alberto Sevenso.

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**Chapter 1**

Draco Malfoy walked briskly down the hall, his Healer robes swirling around him. On his chest was a peculiar emblem, a serpent wrapped around a kylix, or wine cup. The silver insignia glared brightly against the dark blue of his robes, and as he walked, he smoothed the rumpled fabric.

Following Draco was none other than Astoria Greengrass, the Assistant Healer for this particular case. "Draco, perhaps you should glance at the file before you-"

"I like surprises."

Draco Malfoy never looked at his case files before seeing the patient himself. Astoria, glancing at the file yet again, sighed heavily, and continued walking behind him.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you," she muttered.

"I never say anything like that anyway," Draco said waspishly as he pulled out his pocket watch. "Room number?"

"718."

"File?"

"Draco-"

"Astoria, give me the bloody file. We're late."

Astoria reluctantly handed Draco the file as he reached the door, then hesitantly dismissed herself. Draco liked to work alone. Most Malfoys did.

The blond shook his head, sighing at Astoria's melodramatics. That woman was always worried about something or other. Draco, not looking at the file he clenched in his hand, pushed open the heavy door. Immediately, he noticed how dim the room was. Usually, it was brightly lit, so as to encourage sight. Inwardly grumbling, Draco murmured a wandless lumination spell.

"Celeritas lumos." He made sure the light was low so that it wouldn't startle the patient, then allowed his eyes to search for whoever it was he was supposed to be treating.

Sitting in the middle of the room, on the highly polished tiled floor, was a skinny girl with big, brown hair.

Granger.

He did a double-take. Why was Granger in the maximum security wing of the Mental Health and Brain Injuries ward of St. Mungo's?

"Granger," Draco called, not knowing what to expect.

The forlorn woman looked up warily, eyes frantic. She did not seem to register who he was, exactly. In fact, her eyes were devoid of any recognition, as if she had never seen Draco before in her life.

"Where's Harry?" she asked. She repeated the question again, with more urgency.

Draco stared, shocked. She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember anything.

Perhaps he should have read the file.


	2. Seasons Always Change

Disclaimer can be found in first chapter.

Hello, all! Back by popular demand, I present to you the second chapter of this story! I will try to update regularly, and thank you all for your sweet reviews. You are so wonderful. As usual, R&R, and please don't hate me at the end of this chapter. This story is going places ;) Without further ado, I give to you

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**Chapter 2**

_The eerie, green-lit fog moved steadily, swirling around Hermione as she stood in the midst of it all. She felt suffocated, like a breath was a thing she'd never draw again. Flashes of red light and silver and gold blinded her, and the acrid smoke steadily filled her nostrils with the smell of Death. What a scary nightmare. Hermione hoped that this time, when she screamed, she would wake up from it._

Draco could have sworn he saw a flash of fear in Granger's eyes before the horrible, high-pitched scream of terror escaped from her chapped lips.

_Oh, fuck,_ he thought. _She's a screamer._

He raised his hand toward her and muttered a Stupefy, rushing toward her as she slumped forward off her chair. He caught her and carried her to the small bed that sat against the far wall of the room. Then, Draco rushed toward the doorway, yelling for Astoria, and ran right into her. Scowling, he demanded she explain.

"I told you, Draco. You should have read the file," Astoria tsked.

"Or you could have just told me what was in it," he whispered angrily.

"Would you have listened? No, you wouldn't have, you prat." She shook her dark hair out of her eyes, then Summoned the file. "Says here that symptoms started in earnest three weeks ago. She was brought in by Ginevra Weasley-Potter. That's Ginny from Hogwarts."

Draco nodded tersely.

"Okay, well her contacts are listed here. Ginny, of course, and Luna Lovegood."

Draco's eyes widened. "What about her parents, or relatives," he asked.

Astoria shrugged. "I reckon casualties of the war? Anyway, what are you going to do with her?"

"Obviously I'm going to figure out what she has," Draco said, shutting the door behind him. He turned and walked down the hall, heading towards his office. "You ran diagnostics?"

"Yes. Nothing detected by general methods. Could be PTSD, but if it it is, it's really late-setting," Astoria responded.

"You checked for MTV diseases?" Draco peered at Astoria out of the corner of his eye.

She nodded. Magically transmitted viruses were a fairly recent phenomenon in the Wizarding World, and were quite fatal when they first appeared. Draco, with Astoria's help, discovered the current working cure.

"And?"

"I told you, nothing. It's probably PTSD, Draco. You know she played a huge role in the war."

Draco pushed open the door to his minimally furnished office and bade Astoria to sit. He sat down in his plush black armchair and looked at her askance. "No, I don't. Why would you assume that?"

"Don't play dumb. We both know you were an integral part in the-"

"Enough. I am telling you now, all I know about her is that she was a part of that swotty Golden Trio, along with Potter and Weasley. She might have done all the book work and research, but I don't know anything of her involvement after that. Besides, the war has been over for nearly seven years now, and you're telling me that the symptoms set in three _weeks_ ago." Draco struggled to control his frustration. Already, he knew this would be a difficult and trying case.

"Yes, which is why I said that-"

"Did you use Legilimens?"

"For fuck's sake, Draco! Stop cutting me off!" Astoria angrily shook her dark hair out of her eyes, then sat down in the chair that Draco had offered her earlier. She didn't know how to describe what she saw, so she opted for a simple, "Yes."

Draco stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

"Nothing at all made sense. Usually there is some sort of pattern to what we see, and we can sift through and find the cause of the brain defect, but…"

"But?"

"It was an incoherent tangle of colors and fog and smells, Draco. I just could not make sense of it. The only thing I recognized was the heavy odor of-"

"Of what?"

Astoria looked up at him. "Of death.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. _Dramatic, as always_.

"I'm not being dramatic, Malfoy."

"Stay out of my head, Greengrass."

In the amiable silence that pursued, Draco thought about his options. He could try Legilimens on Granger himself, but after his most recent encounter with her, he figured it would be better for both parties if he stalled that particular action. Then, Draco thought about the alternative path, reserved for patients who were obviously to incapacitated to talk about their past medical and relevant history. He could interview the people closest to her. Draco thought this path was a bit premature, but he really didn't have a choice. He just wished he knew where to start. Nearly everyone he associated her with was dead, and her case file was vague on her personal contacts.

"Greengrass," he finally said.

She looked up from the notes.

Draco ran both of his hands over his face, a habit he had developed over the years that signaled his stress levels. This was going to be a long journey, possibly even an enigma. There was a very real possibility of his failure. Wizards and witches did suffer from dementia, but his instincts were telling him that Hermione's case was not that simple. Not only that, she was also a high-profile patient. Any screw-up or mishap that occurred on his watch was potentially career-threatening. He spoke. "What is Weasley's address?"

Astoria arched a brow, surprised. "Bit premature, don't you think?" Before Draco could answer, she continued. "She has a flat in London."

"How do you-"

"Same bookclub," Astoria said, smiling. She winked at him and wrote down the address, then promptly handed it to him.

He glanced at it and thanked her. "I need you to assemble a team of Caregiver nurses to look after Granger's physical condition and alert me when she wakes up. Let them know how to reach me, then go home. You look like shit."

Astoria glared at him, but without heat. She got up and stretched her arms above her head. "Listen, Draco. If you're not comfortable with this case, I'm sure Milberry would be more than willing-"

Draco tiredly stood up from his seat. "If you think I'm going to entrust Granger's mind to _Milberry_, you've got another one coming. The man's a dunce, and that's putting it mildly. I am more than capable of handling this without _anyone's_ help." The threat in his words was clear.

Astoria simply stared at him, then cleared her throat. "Frankly, I doubt it. I know your old prejudices are, for the most part, buried, but this girl… Draco, I saw how you treated her in school. Everyone did. If she dies in your care, your reputation will be shattered. Plus, you've got that raging alcoholism thing going for you. Prospect's not all that good," Astoria boldly stated. She had learned it was better to be upfront when dealing with a Malfoy.

"You don't think I'm good enough to treat her?" Draco seethed.

"I- well yes, I think your skills are good enough, but Draco, your temperament suggests otherwise."

Draco sighed, feeling fatigue set into his bones. "Get out," he ordered, pointing at the door. He was too exhausted from his long day to deal with Astoria's snark.

Astoria huffed, then turned around and stalked to the door. As she walked away from him, she said, "Just be careful, for fuck's sake."

Draco glared at the door as it slammed, then continued staring for another couple of minutes, before pulling out half a fifth of firewhiskey. _Ogden's finest_, he thought with amusement, swigging directly from the bottle. After another minute, he stowed it away in his desk and stood up. He turned around and looked out the window at London's skyline.

How his life had changed, Draco how it would continue to change, he knew.

He turned around and grabbed his briefcase, then walked to his fireplace. Scooping up a handful of Floo powder, he glanced again at Ginny Weasley-Potter's address, then threw the emerald grains into the fire. Draco stepped into the green flames and called out the address.

"89 Trellington Lane, Ginny's flat!"

He arrived in a swirl of dust, stepping through Ginny's fireplace and onto her carpet. "Weasley!" he called.

"It's Weasley-Potter to you, ferret," came a voice from right beside him.

Draco turned slowly and found himself at the dangerous end of Ginny's wand.

He wasn't the least surprised to find that she hadn't changed, even after seven years.

Even after the death of her husband.


	3. Harvester of Light, Part I

Hey all! Thanks again for reviewing. I'm uploading this chapter so soon so that I could address a question many of you probably have, but after this, I'll probably slow down a bit, due to finals and things.

To Kimm Possible and others: Yes, Harry Potter is dead, and you will find out about Ron in this chapter. I must warn you all that this story is going to get dark and angsty and things, so please don't hate me. Also, you won't find out the circumstances of character deaths mentioned in this chapter until much later, when the story gets really interesting. This story is going to jump around a lot to times during the war, after, and the present.

If you've got hypotheses on which characters died and how they died, please feel free to leave a comment!

Much love xoxo,

Nova

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**Chapter 3**

"I'm here on Granger's behalf. I'm her healer," Draco explained, aware of the predicament he was in.

"I know, I'm not stupid," Ginny snapped.

"Then lower your bloody wand! We are wasting precious time," Draco said, patience wearing thin.

At this, Ginny's eyes widened. "Don't come into my house and order me around, especially when you arrived unannounced!"

"I didn't have time for proprieties, for fuck's sake. Put your grudges aside so I can help your friend!"

Ginny continued to stare at him with distrust, but lowered her wand. "Follow me to the sitting room," she muttered.

Draco did as he was told, glancing at his surroundings as he passed the foyer into the sitting room. Noting the magically enlarged interior, he wondered silently if there was really a need for all this space. He sat down on the couch that Ginny gestured to, then turned to face her. "I need to know everything about how you found Granger."

Ginny sat down in a brown leather arm chair and took her time responding. First, she asked a question. "How bad is she?"

"She screamed when I walked in and is currently unconscious. She doesn't know Potter is dead." Draco had expected Ginny to flinch with the mention of her deceased husband, so was surprised when she didn't react.

"I started really worrying about her in earnest around three weeks ago," Ginny said.

"Why?"

"Well, she asked how Harry was when we were having dinner one night. I thought she was joking, and got upset and left. She owled me and asked if Harry and I broke up, and wrote that she was worried because Ron hadn't been home for days."

"She doesn't know they're both dead then?"

"Obviously."

Draco took out a notebook from his briefcase and withdrew a Muggle pen from his robe pocket. He looked back up at Ginny, noting the surprise in her face. "Alright, before that dinner, how long had it been since you had last seen her," he asked, ignoring her reaction to his use of a Muggle contraption.

Ginny looked a bit ashamed as she muttered her answer.

"What was that? Speak up, I can't hear you," Draco said, suddenly reminded of how much he disliked the redhead back when they were both at Hogwarts.

"I said," Ginny started loudly, "four months."

Draco stared at her, jotting down the little factoid. "Why so long," he asked, genuinely curious.

"None of your business," Ginny burst, face turning red.

"Tell me, Weasel. It might be important!"

Ginny glared at him. "I was upset with her. She was acting strange. Kept telling me about nightmares that she was having, during the day. At the time, I thought she was just being paranoid."

"So you got _mad_ at her? Seems a bit immature," Draco muttered, writing down more notes.

"She kept making me relive the war!" Ginny's eyes took on a faraway look, and as Draco watched, they glazed over with tears.

Uncomfortable, he asked another question. "Did you notice anything different about her, physically? Did she travel or eat something weird?"

"No. Don't you lot have some type of diagnostic you run to test for that sort of thing?"

"Yes, but I'm being thorough. When you saw her three weeks ago, did she look different?"

"No, she looked the same." Ginny hesitated.

"Look, Weasley, whatever it is you have to say, spit it out. We don't have all the time in the world."

Ginny bristled. "She was wearing the promise ring Ron had given her during the last year of the war."

"And?"

"And she hasn't worn it since he died."

"Right, and when was that, exactly?"

"A couple months before the end of the war. Maybe four or five."

Draco wrote that tidbit down, then looked at his notes thoughtfully. He looked back up at her. "Before you threw your hissyfit and subsequently subjected your supposed best friend to this dangerous condition with which she has had to deal with by herself for the past couple of months," Draco drawled, abandoning all pretenses of civility and professionalism, "were you seeing her often?"

"Don't talk to me that way, Malfoy," Ginny said, pulling out her wand.

"Answer the fucking question," he said lazily. "I'm only trying to correct your mistake."

"How was I supposed to know that she was ill?" Ginny shouted this, then stood up. "It is not at all unordinary for me to be upset with her after-"

"Well has she done anything like that before?"

"No, which is why I was upset."

"Hmm," Draco murmured sarcastically, "and you didn't think it strange that she was having nightmares about the war-"

"Everyone has nightmares about the war!" Ginny paced angrily, upset at his accusations.

"Yes, but this is Granger! And during the day, no less."

Ginny turned back to him and pointed a finger. "Do not pretend you know her! Even Hermione had nightmares. She just- she just never talked about them, is all." Ginny sat back down huffily.

"Okay, well. You left her when she needed you and confided in you. What if that catalyzed the-"

"Oh no," Ginny said sadly, placing her head in her hands. "You don't suppose it did, do you?"

"It's unclear at this point. Just answer the question I asked you before."

"Yes, we had dinner twice a week before then and everything seemed normal."

Draco recorded that, then looked at the summation of his notes so far. He looked up at Ginny, noticing her pallor. "Look, I realize this is difficult for you, but I'm almost done."

Ginny looked up, surprised at his compassion.

"Don't look so surprised," he muttered. More loudly, he asked, "What were the circumstances of Weasley's death?"

Ginny thought for a bit, before admitting that she didn't really know, and she only knew that during that period of time, Hermione and Ron, along with a couple others, had been held at Malfoy Manor. Here, she looked up. "Shouldn't you know this?"

"No," he answered bluntly. "Who might be able to tell me what happened?"

"Neville, probably. He had been taken too."

"Longbottom?" He quickly jotted down that note, making another note to interview him also. "What about Lovegood? She's listed as Hermione's other contact."

"Yes, well, I put her down because she was the one who tried to tell me about Hermione's deteriorating health. And she is responsible for me reconciling with Hermione, and bringing her to Mungo's."

"You mean to tell me that Lovegood knew Granger was unwell but did nothing about it," Draco said incredulously.

"It's Luna," Ginny pointed out. "She came to me. I should have-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm going to have to interrupt this pity part. I think I've got what I need." Draco packed up his things and made to go back to the fireplace, ready to leave.

Before he could get very far, Ginny called out to him, "I reckon seeing Luna might do you a bit of good. She'd be able to tell you a lot about Hermione before I brought her to Mungo's."

Draco turned around, staring at Ginny. "Let me ask you something. Luna works with me. Why didn't she say anything?"

Ginny walked past him into the foyer, activating the Floo, clearly anxious for him to leave. She looked back at him. "That's something you're going to have to ask her yourself."


	4. Beacon of Light

**Author's note:** Sorry for driving you all insane with notifications, but look what I have! A brand new chapter. Please continue to read and review. You all keep me going.

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**Chapter 4**

Draco emerged back in his office. He shook the soot off of his robes and onto the carpet, then took the robes off and hung them on his coat hook. He walked around his dark wooden desk to his chair, sat down, and pulled out his ledged on which he had scribbled notes during his interview with the redhead. As his eyes ran over the words that he had written, his mind went back to the question Ginny had asked him.

_"Shouldn't you know this?"_ Ginny had asked.

Draco wasn't sure what the answer to her question actually was. On the one hand, his plea bargain with the Ministry that had allowed him to go on living his life meant that any involvement he had with the war was downplayed. On the other hand, the Wizarding World was not as foolish as the Ministry thought it, and it was only because the Malfoy name meant something that Draco was no longer receiving vague, anonymous death threats. Despite what much of the Wizarding World thought, however, and despite how much they all speculated, no one was really sure what Draco's involvement actually was. Truthfully, he reflected, he did know that Hermione and some of her lot had been captured near the close of the war, but because the Dark Lord had entrusted him with reconnaissance and recruitment missions, he was often gone during the time of her incarceration. So technically, he remembered her being captured. But he in no way knew what had occurred.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Draco lamented ironically that he should have liked to be there to witness her incarceration, if only to figure out what happened during that time and whether or not it was instrumental in her condition now. He chuckled softly, then stretched his legs out under his desk. Glancing at his watch, he noted the late hour, then resolved to work a couple more minutes before heading home. He turned a page of his notebook and looked for the key points he had marked. He had a working theory, but didn't want to pay much attention to it, cautious that he would waylay his research by doing so.

Tapping his pen against the ledger, Draco thought aloud, "Longbottom? Or Lovegood?"

Draco was sure that speaking to Longbottom would shed some light on that mysterious period of time that he and Granger had been captured (along with the now deceased Weasel). However useful that might be, though, Draco knew that it would be more pertinent to speak to Luna Lovegood. She would be able to tell him a lot more about Granger's condition than that Ginny girl did, although he did have to admit, she provided valuable information. He contemplated his notes again, then shook his head as the theory he had devised earlier popped up again. Too many parts of it were improbably or just plain impossible. Looking up at the darkened state of his office, he murmured a lighting spell, then stood up and grabbed his Healer robe off of his coat rack. He had to check on Granger once more before leaving, and was actually surprised that she hadn't awakened.

Draco opened his door and peered into the nearly empty corridor. It was only about eight in the evening, and he had very little work to do, but he knew that the other corridors and floors of the Wizarding hospital were bustling with activity. They always were. He stepped through the doorway and into the hall, then flicked his wand at the door to ward it against intruders. He still didn't trust people. Draco walked down the hall for the millionth time that day, nodding at the Assistant Healers and Caregiver Healers that he passed, not wanting to stop to make small talk. He stopped outside the door, cautious about entering. He really didn't like screamers, even after his years of experience. He pushed open the door as quietly as possible, then entered the darkened room. He walked forward a couple of steps, then raised his eyes to the figure in the bed. He had expected to see her sitting up, reading, or looking out of the window, since logically, the spell should have worn off some time ago. He assumed that Astoria had been forced to put Granger in a medically induced coma, and deemed it safe to approach the bed.

Hermione lay in a restless slumber, and her worries permeated the membrane that the coma should have created between her thoughts and her body. Draco stared at the crease between her eyebrows and wondered, for the first time that day, if the Wizarding World was going to lose the brightest witch they'd ever seen. No doubt, if Hermione had been awake, she could have told him how to fix her. _Bloody know-it-all_, Draco thought sardonically. He furrowed his brows. It really was tragic that her mind would be affected. He wondered, not for the first time, if he should use Legilimency on her. He shook himself out of his thoughts and looked back down at her, noting the way her hair splayed itself across the hospital-issue pillow her head rested on. Her sharp cheek bones seemed to distort her skin, crossing it to create unnatural hollows and shadows in her once healthily-plumped face. They would definitely have to feed her and run a physical diagnostic on her tomorrow. Draco figured they could wait, and there was little rush, since she was still alert. He turned to go, but hesitated. He really wanted to see what was going on in her head. He turned his head to look at her again, and decided that it would be useful to see what was troubling her so much.

Draco hoped it wasn't war memories, but knew better than to expect anything else. Walking back to the side of her bed, he extended a hand to push her hair back behind her ear, then whispered _enervate_. Hermione's eyes opened, and before she could react, Draco leapt in.

_The wind whipped the green fog around the battle field, and Hermione stood in the midst of it all. She was frozen with terror, and could not lift her wand to protect herself as she witnessed the battle rage on. The eerie silence that had filled the void was suddenly sucked away, and in its place was a cacophony of the sounds of war. Hermione tried to move her legs, found that she could, and ran, dodging spells and ducking out of the way of fighters. She ran as fast as she could towards what seemed to be the edge of the battle field, and when she got there, she found she could not go through. A physical, invisible boundary trapped her inside the battle, and when she turned around, she found the scene had changed._

_She was now trapped underneath the floorboards in an abandoned warehouse. She could hear and see the boards above her vibrate from being stepped on, and her fear seized her throat, so that even if she wanted to scream, she couldn't. Hermione turned her head left and right, trying to see, but the darkness blinded her._

_"Hello?" she called. "I know you're there, I can feel you. My name is Hermione Granger, and I need to get out," she whispered, voice raspy from disuse._

_Draco started, then tried to reduce his magical trace._

_"No, don't go!" Hermione begged. "You're different from whoever was here earlier. I can tell."_

_Draco opened his mouth to say something, but waited to see if Hermione would continue. She did._

_"Help me, please. I'm trapped and I don't know how to get out and this is as good as it gets," she rushed. "Usually it's worse and I think I'm going insane but I can't escape and if you were a prisoner like me, you could feel my pain." A pause. "Touch my hand," she beseeched._

_Draco was wary._

_"Please," she begged in that whisper._

_He reached out, and immediately regretted it. It seemed that she had been able to use some bit of magic to transfer what she was feeling into him. Aside from the intense fear he felt funneling into him, he was very aware of the pain she was talking about. It was much worse than the Cruciatus he had experienced in his past, and immediately, he knew who this Hermione was. This Hermione was the brain he needed to save. The brain inside the mind that sought to punish Hermione for whatever imagined transgression. Draco tried to withdraw his hand, quickly becoming nauseous, but found he couldn't. He looked up into Hermione's tear-filled eyes, and realized she could see him._

_"Draco?" she whispered incredulously, reaching out to grab him, as if to make sure he was real._

And with a great, racking, seizing feeling, Draco Malfoy escaped from the confines of Hermione Granger's mind.


	5. They Say

AN: Sorry for the super late update, all! Finals were so time-consuming, and I've been spending time recuperating. Forgive me. Here's the latest installment, and do check out my latest fic, Love is Blindness, as well as my other fics. Also, love me and R&R! You are all appreciated.

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**Chapter 5**

Draco's ears rung with a fierceness that served to disorient him. Around him, shapes shifted, and he was vaguely aware of someone shaking him. His head stabbed with agony, and in his mouth was a metallic taste.

"Draco! Draco, Draco!" Astoria shouted.

Draco tried to reach towards her voice, to bring himself out of his stupor, but it took a harsh slap from Astoria to do the job. His head swung sharply to the side, and the pain in his cheek momentarily distracted him from his headache.

"Astoria," he croaked, shoving her hands off of him. He licked his lips shakily, and whispered, "She's trapped."

"What?" Astoria shouted, trying to be heard over the noise.

Draco shoved her to the side, looking for the source of the racket. He finally noticed the inordinate amount of orderlies rushing about, the beeping of machines following their movements. His eyes were drawn to the flailing, screaming figure in the bed, who was currently being tied down with magical bonds.

"What's going on?" he shouted.

"You tell me!" Astoria replied, pulling him by the arm out of the ward. Out in the relative quiet of the hall, Astoria took a deep breath and rubbed her hands over her face tiredly. "I was paged in at 3 am, when all this," she waved a nonchalant arm at the fearsome and ongoing situation "started."

"It's three in the morning? Wh- Why didn't they just wake me? You didn't have to be called in," Draco said, already fearing Astoria's reply.

"You were in a stupor. Trapped in her head." Here, she punched him. "You bloody, sodding idiot! You know medical protocol! You are never to enter a patient's mind _unsupervised!_"

"Get a hold of yourself, woman!" Draco rubbed his arm and contemplated what to tell her.

"Oh no, none of that. Tell me the truth." Astoria led him to her office, which was at the other end of the hall. She unlocked the door and walked around to her desk, stopping to pour Draco some pepper up potion and tea. "Well?"

"Well, like I said, she's trapped. I spoke to the Weasley girl, and it sounds like dementia. But…" Draco trailed off, knowing that Astoria understood.

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Alright, well what did you see in her head?"

"War," Draco answered noncommittally. He was running over the details in his head a final time, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

"That's it?" Astoria asked, a brow quirked in disbelief.

"Well, Ginny told me that it started with bouts of amnesia," Draco began, and was momentarily sidetracked by how Astoria knew Ginny in the first place. He continued, "When I entered her mind, it was exactly like reliving the war. Except, unlike with the typical patient, she was in it."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't a spectre or projection of her. It seemed like she, herself, was in her mind. It was a tangible manifestation of her conscious," Draco murmured, growing increasingly confused by the phenomenon.

"Impossible," Astoria scoffed. "How could any manifestation in her mind be tangible?"

"Well, Greengrass, like I said, this case is unusual. It's as if these recreations aren't actually memories. Granger was able to reach out and _touch _me, for Christ's sake. Another minute and I probably would have gone crazy as well."

"She touched you?" Astroria's eyes shone curiously, and Draco recognized the look on her face. She was working out the details and attempting to take the inconsistencies in stride.

"Yes, and another thing. She was in horrendous pain. That's why she's always screaming." Draco shuddered. "It's a wonder that her mind hasn't shut down completely."

Silence as they both thought about what he had said.

"Anything else," Astoria asked.

"Yes, actually. I just recalled that she was being attacked inside her own head. She was fastidiously dodging all types of curses. I have a theory."

Astoria waited.

"It's like a huge metaphor. The battlefield is her mind, and the parts attacking her are parts of her brain, you see? And every time she hurls spells to defend herself or attack the attackers, she's hurting her own brain. It's all very intriguing. And what's more," Draco said, jumping up excitedly, his tea forgotten, "is that she knows that she's trapped. Whether or not she knows she's in her head is another thing."

Draco was starting to think she did, since she didn't hurl any spells at him on sight.

"Well? What now, then," Astoria asked.

He turned to look at her. "You have to stay out of her head. She can tell when you're in there, and for some reason, her mind has fortified itself against you, and not me. Maybe because I'm familiar."

"Do you think she would react more favorably to someone she knew and liked?"

Draco scoffed. "No one is qualified enough for the work we have to do. Hell, I had a hard enough time in there as it was. No, I guess I just have to ingratiate myself with her manifestation and allow it to give me the details I need."

Astoria stood, alarmed. "You're not seriously suggesting that you're going back in there, are you?  
Draco just stared at her.

"Are you mad? You're risking your sanity! I won't let you do it!"

"Time is of the essence, Astoria!" Draco roared. He took a deep breath. "I don't _need_ your permission to do anything. I am your superior, and it would do you well to remember that."

Astoria's face flamed at the reminder, and Draco mentally slapped himself for the low blow. He knew they were equals in almost every way.

Astoria ignored the jab and suggested another route. "Why don't you let her rest a bit and continue your interviews. You'll kill two birds with one stone, that way. Who's next on your list again?"

"Neville Longbottom," Draco replied, deciding on the spot.

"Are you flooing to his flat then?"

"No," Draco said, walking to Astoria's door and opening it. He turned to look back at her. "I'm heading to Hogwarts."


	6. Harvester of Light, Part II

**AN: **Really short update, but I will be adding more tonight. Hopefully a longer chapter with longs of meat and grit. So sorry this is late, I've been swamped with life. I promise you, PROMISE YOU, I will update more regularly. The next chapter will take a while, probably a week, because it is seriously going to be super duper long. You will see why after you finish this chapter. There will be, however, updates on my other stories in the mean time, so please keep an eye out and give those babies some love.

xx,

Your shitty author

P.S. Also, sorry for the wonky updates. The site wouldn't let me edit chapter titles, then the order got all messed up etc etc

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Draco walked with lengthy strides across the crisp green grass, sparing a glance towards the lake as he went. _The grounds are still the same_, he thought. It had been years since he had last been here. Seven, to be exact. He knew, of course, that he could have Owled Longbottom to meet at the Three Broomsticks, but Hogwarts seemed to be the more appropriate setting. Strolling up the stairs and right up to the doors, Draco pushed them open and entered. He sighed heavily. It was breakfast time.

Since he didn't know the protocol for visitors, he assumed there were none, and headed into the Great Hall, apprehensive about being recognized. Walking between the Slytherin table and the wall, he hastily made his way to where the professors sat. Ignoring the stares and whispers (he supposed they did recognize him, after all), he approached Longbottom, who had singled him out the moment he entered.

"Neville," he muttered, extending his hand nervously. He nodded to his old professors, most of whom ignored him.

"Malfoy!" Neville clasped Draco's hand exuberantly and excused himself from the table, chattering away about how lucky Draco was to have caught him on a Saturday.

Draco only nodded, antsy to get the interview done and over with. Neville, sensing Draco's anxiety, only chuckled and led him to his living quarters, which were not all that far from the Great Hall.

Once the door shut behind them and the parlor was properly illuminated, Neville turned to face Draco. "Astoria said you were seeing Luna first. Did that interview help with Hermione's situation?"

Draco started. "You know Astoria?"

Neville only shook his head and chuckled. "Everyone knows Astoria."

Draco, doubting that statement, looked over the man in front of him. Neville Longbottom. Neville, who had killed Voldemort. Neville, who had been the first to extend a hand in friendship to the remaining Malfoys. Neville.

The man in front of him was still boyish in demeanor. However he was taller and showed lines of slight aging. His mousy brown hair was peppered with strands of gray, and when he smiled, his eyes crinkled. Down one side of his face was a nasty scar he had received from Yaxley's deadly wand. Draco, momentarily forgetting about Hermione, wondered if he looked as aged as Longbottom did.

"Draco," Neville said, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder. "You alright, mate? You don't look too good."

Draco cleared his throat and said, "I'm fine. Luna is actually coming into Mungo's today, so I thought I'd just do your interview first. Kill some time, you know."

Neville nodded. "Well I don't know what to tell you. I don't know how Hermione could have succumbed to this condition."

Draco nodded and sat down on a chair offered to him by Neville. "I have only one working theory so far, but I need some information from you before I can accurately make heads or tails of it."

Neville, stopping in the midst of preparing tea and pumpkin juice, looked over at Draco and urged him to continue.

"This may be an uncomfortable topic of conversation, but when you were held at my family's estate, Neville-"

"Which time," Neville interrupted, reminding Draco that he had been imprisoned at Malfoy Manor more times than he cared to admit.

"It was four months before the end of the war."

"Right, then. Continue."

"I know you were imprisoned with Hermione, and Ron-"

"And Luna," Neville said, glancing at Draco out of the corner of his eye as he brought a tray of drinks to the table.

"Luna? But why did no one mention this to me earlier," Draco said, clearing Neville's messy table to make room for the tray.

"Well, no one really knew what was going on at this time. There were several rescue missions being planned and going on at the time, I would imagine. People probably lost track of where exactly everyone was interned. But I do know I was there with 'Mione, Ron, and Luna. The only ones from our group who were not captured with us were Ginny and Harry," Neville said, pouring some pumpkin juice into a glass for himself.

"You lot didn't keep logs?"

Neville laughed. "That was Hermione's job. She thought it was useful to keep track of who went missing and when. No one had the time or energy to take over after she was taken." He sipped his drink.

Draco was quiet as he wrote down some of the information Neville had just told him. After a while, he spoke. "I take it you don't know or remember much of what happened?"

Neville shook his head. "I do, actually."

"Oh?" Draco then remembered that Neville told him he'd survived the war by doing exercises to strengthen his memory of spells and strategies. To date, Neville probably had the best memory of anyone Draco knew, including himself.

"Yes, but I doubt telling you would be much help."

"Why," Draco said, not liking where this conversation was heading.

"Because, Draco, you know as well as I do that I will leave out details I may find to be unimportant, but may actually be critical. Use my-"

"I am not using your damn pensieve," Draco growled, peaked at the thought of reliving the war through the eyes of an Order member.

"Draco…"

"There is no other way? Perhaps Legilimency."

"Yes, perhaps, if you would like to sit here for hours, only to come back and peruse my memories during class time."

Draco muttered a curse and accepted Neville's offer. "Fine. Bottle it up, and I'll take it to my study. I'll return it when I'm done."

He watched Neville put the business end of his wand to his temple and withdraw it slowly until a long strand of silver memory came away from his head. Then, Neville pulled a small glass vial from his robes and pushed his wand into the opening of the vial. He swirled it around until the entire memory was stuffed into the vial, then stoppered it and gave it to Draco.

"Be gentle with it, mate," he said with a twinkle in his eye, then sent the hesitant blond on his way.

* * *

**AN**: As you can probably see, the next chapter will be super long because it will be Neville's take on the time he was captured with Hermione and the others and held at the Manor. It's a lot to get through, but keep in mind it is only HIS take, and the other perspectives remain to be seen. Like I said, this story jumps back and forth a lot, and if at any time it gets too confusing, please, PLEASE, let me know. I just have a strange, almost incoherent writing style.

I'm working on it.

Much love,

Nova


	7. Harvester of Light, Part III

**AN**: The majority of this chapter is written from Neville's point of view. It's a long one, so be proud of me! The information in it is important, and it sets up Luna's (and eventually Hermione's) account of the time they were imprisoned. The next chapter will be posted soon, hopefully. It will be a nice one, don't worry. The angst is yet to come! This story has very little angst. I want it to be mellow. If you have any questions, please comment and review! I would be more than happy to answer them.

You indebted author,

xx

Nova

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Draco no longer lived in the manor. The large, old residence was far too extravagant for a man whose mother had desired to escape her past by fleeing to the peaceful French countryside, and whose father was imprisoned in Azkaban. It was far too extravagant for a man who was alone. And so he had built a residence on the back edge of the Malfoy grounds, in the furthest corner of the gardens. It was a secluded spot, peaceful and quiet. It was as far as he was willing to go from his childhood home, which although he despised it, was still a place that mattered to him.

To describe the residence as modest would be an outright lie. Unless, of course, one was comparing it to the manor. Everything was modest when compared to the manor. Draco's new home, in his own words, was reasonably sized. Neville thought it was a bit much, but then again, so was Draco. It was a large cottage, built to accommodate a parlor, three bedrooms, a grand kitchen (Draco liked to cook during his spare time), a dining room that replicated that of the manor, only smaller. And of course, the crown jewel, which was the study. Draco took pride in his study. He took pride in the privacy it provided, and the seclusion it offered. It was on the east side of the cottage, and overlooked a beautiful, natural lake that had been on the property for centuries. Draco hadn't thought much about the design scheme. He only wished it to be different from his father's cold excuse of a study. The designer had done a marvelous job. The room was warm and masculine, but not too warm. Not Weasley warm. Malfoy warm. With dark oaks and wild greens and warm beiges.

It was very warm.

Draco stood at the window overlooking the lake, with his back to the warm study. His eyes were not on the lake he occasionally swam in. They were focused on the dark, wooden bowl that stood on the window seat. The silvery contents of Neville's mind swirled around, beckoning him to dive in. Draco looked at the miniature grandfather clock that hung on the wall to his left. He was supposed to be at Mungo's at noon, and only had two hours to relive what had to be one of Neville's darkest memories. Saying a quick prayer to Morgana or Merlin or whoever could be listening, he brought his face closer to the bowl. He whispered a spell that would allow him to embody Neville in the memory.

"_Possessio Omnia._" He took a deep breath, and brought his face closer still to the bowl._ "_Here goes nothing." Sinking his face into the silvery depths of memory, Draco allowed himself to be pulled back in time.

This_ house was dark and musty. No light filtered through the thick drapes that covered the windows. Neville was sure they were grimy anyway. He quickly scanned the entry way and scuttled to the foyer. No movement._

_"Clear," he whispered to Hermione._

_She rushed past him and into the room beyond the foyer. Ron and Ginny followed, with Luna bringing up the rear. As she passed, she squeezed his hand lightly and smiled._

_He smiled back, then pushed her ahead of him. Something about this house made him uneasy. He felt like they were being watched, and like he was forgetting something very important._

_Beyond the foyer was a parlor, and adjacent to it was a kitchen. The entire crew had moved onto what was beyond the kitchen, but Neville couldn't see past the French doors. He heard the sound of paper rustle, and cast a nervous, yet critical eye at the windows. They weren't open. Taking a couple steps forward with the pretense of moving on, he nonverbally cast a Homenem Revelio, albeit an altered version. This spell, invented by Luna, gave off a luminescence that only the caster could sense. It revealed if an enemy was present._

_Neville cursed himself inwardly. He should have done it sooner. Enemies _were_ present, and by the look of things, he and his friends were surrounded. Trying to ignore the shifting, darkly glowing figures, Neville moved through the parlor and into the kitchen, opening the cupboards and banging them one, two, three times. Loudly. He knew that at least one member of his reconnaissance crew had received the signal because he felt his wand burning warmly, before turning ice cold, the signal for immediate group evacuation. They needed to take the Port Key out as soon as possible. Neville calmly walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway beyond. He wasn't leaving without Luna._

_"Ginny! Luna?" he called. "Have you lot found anything?" Silence, then the sounds of a scuffle taking place. A shout. "Bloody-" he ran toward the room at the end of the hall, sure that his team was located there. Neville burst through the door of the room at the end of the hall and emerged breathless. He found that the remaining members of the squad were back to back, wands facing outward. It took Neville no time at all to realize that Ginny had taken the Port Key out of the situation, leaving the others behind. Presumably, she was going back to alert the rest of the Order that traps had been set at various mission locations. Neville stood still for a moment, wondering why the entire group didn't just evacuate with her, before he was harshly reminded of the situation when Hermione pointed her wand directly at him._

_"Neville, duck!" shouted Hermione._

_Neville quickly dropped to the ground and rolled to his right, knowing that whatever spell Hermione shot would have a blast radius. When he scrambled back onto his knees, he realized it was too late. The Death Eaters whose presence he had felt earlier started to remove their cloaking spells, revealing their horrifying visage to the tiny, surrounded squad. There must have been at least ten of them in the small room, and who knew how many more throughout the house, heading towards the commotion. Not willing to be taken alive, he and the others shot spells intended to maim, disarm, and kill the Death Eaters._

_He heard a hoarse voice shout, "Alive! Get them alive! They are the important ones!"_

_Aiming at the voice, he shot a blasting spell. Then, Neville blindly cast disarming and stunning spells at the black figures that continued to shift around the room. Despite the volume of spells that the tiny squadron of Phoenixes were volleying, it was futile. They were clearly outnumbered, and this was a well-planned ambush. In the blink of an eye, Neville found himself slipping silkily into a loud unconsciousness, with a roaring silence pressing against his eardrums. Before he could think again about how strange it was that he was still alive, he had one thought that he tried vainly to emit to his friends, his family._

I'm sorry. It's all my fault.

_Neville regained consciousness easily, but immediately wished that he hadn't done so. He had awakened in time to witness Hermione and Luna, both still unconscious, being levitated past his dungeon cell and into the one next to it. A cloaked figure followed them into the cell, and he heard the rusty doors clang shut with a dull sound. He looked around and found Ron being placed in shackles in the wall opposite him. Neville himself was already shackled. He cast his eyes about the dimly lit, criminally small room to see who was doing the shackling._

_"You must be Longbottom," drawled a silvery voice._

_Neville was silent._

_"Very well." The figure drew a wand from the handle of his walking stick and lazily cast a Cruciatus at Neville, who tried in vain not to scream. "You have strong will." The figure stepped into the square of light cast by the lanterns hanging in the hall. It was Lucius Malfoy. He came closer to Neville, and reached a hand out toward his face. Lucius grasped Neville's chin in a gloved hand and turned his face this way and that. "You're Draco's age. He talked about you a lot. Said you were a bit of a bumbling idiot."_

_"Your son is a prat. Like father, like son, I guess," Neville said, wondering why his bravery decided to come out to play today._

_"Ah, but you're witty. Like your mother. I like you." Lucius turned away and walked toward Ron. "And you, you are the Weasley. I can tell. It's the hair. Such an unbecoming shade." Lucius pointed his handsome wand at Ron, then used it to lift his chin. "You are Potter's man, aren't you? Tell me, what do you know?"_

_"I'm not telling you shite!" yelled Ron._

_Neville winced. He was sure Lucius wouldn't be as kind to Ron, and he was right. Immediately, Lucius cast a Cruciatus that seemed to tear Ron's screams from his throat, his lungs. Neville began to shake with fury and helplessness. This was all _his_ fault. He should have checked more thoroughly. He couldn't understand why he didn't._

_Suddenly, the screaming stopped. Lucius turned partly to face Neville, but his wand was still on Ron. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Longbottom," he drawled. "We have our own tricks. I suppose I can tell you, since you won't be leaving here anytime soon. But we plant forget-me-nots in front of our hideouts, and, well. You should know the rest. You really should have kept your herbology hobby alive during wartime. You wouldn't be here now, if you had." Lucius paused thoughtfully. "You are right; I guess it truly _is _your fault." He chuckled menacingly._

_Lucius, by this time, had turned to fully face Neville, and was looking at him peculiarly. His silvery orbs pierced Neville's brown ones. He could feel Lucius' cool touch sliding his thoughts around, and hastily worked to resurrect shields to protect his mind from the unwelcome invasion._

_ "An Occlumens?" Lucius questioned, sounding pleasantly surprised. "But are you skilled?" He walked closer, directing his wand at Neville's head, and keeping his eyes focused until they seemed to be unfocused._

_Immediately, Neville put to use the training that Snape had given him. He drafted a to-do list of mundane tasks and manually began checking off those he had completed, and those he hadn't, adding notes as he went. It was an infinite process, one that Neville found he could lose himself in. It worked well to shield Occlumens from the prodding of those who practiced Legilimency because it allowed the Occlumens to focus on essentially nothing. It was one of many ways to deflect a Legilimens. To Neville's surprise, Lucius withdrew fairly quickly._

_"I will come back to you, Longbottom. To have learned Occlumency means you have much to hide." Lucius continued staring at Neville for a moment, as if he were pondering something. Then, he abruptly turned to face Ron. "You, Potter's man," he whispered, before becoming silent._

_For a second, Neville panicked, fearing that the Order's plans would be revealed to the Death Eater because Ron never took to Occlumency. Then, he remembered that the Order had remedied the situation by keeping Ron and Harry, as well as Ginny, out of the meetings. He continued watching Lucius read Ron's thoughts until the word "Horcrux" came unbidden into Neville's mind and he remembered why Ron's thoughts were still useful to Death Eaters. _

_"Oy, Pureblood filth!" Neville yelled, hoping against hope that it wasn't too late. If Lucius found out that Ron and Harry had been hunting horcruxes, the Order's eventual victory was sure to be jeopardized._

_Silence from Lucius._

_"PUREBLOOD FILTH!" Neville yelled again._

_"I said QUIET, boy!" Lucius screamed, whirling around to point his wand at Neville. The man looked absolutely panicked, and Neville's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. It was too late. "I must tell milord," Lucius said, before casting a final Cruciatus at the both of them and rushing out of the cell._

_The sound of the door clanging shut behind him was drowned out by the screaming of the two tortured boys._

Draco felt a peculiar break in the memories that signaled that Neville had given him not one, but two strands. It was dark for a moment before the scene began to materialize.

_The door to the same cell clanged open and a cloaked figure strolled into the room._

_"Lucius," the figure rasped. "Which boy is he?"_

_A second figure walked into the cell behind the first. A steady hand pointed toward Ron. "This one, my lord."_

_Neville's eyes snapped fully open. Was Voldemort, of all people, in his cell? He stared at the figure as skeletal hands rose to lift its hood. It was Voldemort indeed. His red eyes glowed from his profile._

_"Bring in the girl," Voldemort rasped, then turned to stare at Neville. "This is the boy who belongs to the Longbottoms." He glided toward Neville. "Bella's playthings."_

_Neville's eyes turned steely as they raked Voldemort's serpentine features. A monster in his cell, indeed._

_Voldemort cackled. "You do not like me much." He turned around just as Hermione was being dragged into the cell. He watched silently as she was shackled to the wall facing the door. She was barely lucid. "Lucius, you have done much to harm her."_

_"Yes, my Lord. She is a Mudblood."_

_"No worse than a blood traitor," hissed Voldemort, staring at Ron and Neville. His displeasure chilled the room. "You have done a satisfactory job in harming them, but have you gained any useful information?"_

_"No, my lord. I-"_

_Voldemort stilled Lucius' words. "You failed. I see that my instructions on the matter were not clear enough." His cold gaze drifted toward Lucius, who did his best to remain still. "I will deal with this later. For now, I must verify. This one," he gestured toward Ron,"is useless."_

_"Yes, my lord," Lucius said._

_"You are sure."_

_"Yes."_

_"He is the one that has destroyed my horcruxes, with Potter," Voldemort said, finally walking toward Ron and cupping his chin in his right hand._

_Ron, to his credit, remained silent._

_"Yes, my lord," Lucius repeated._

_"Good. He will make a prime example to that foolish Potter."_

_Neville observed quietly as Voldemort inhaled deeply._

_"Harry Potter, I have a gift for you." He seemed to broadcast this to the room. Then he spoke directly to Ron. "Do not touch that which is not yours," and with that, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on him._

_Ron was no more. Neville shouted, but was abruptly silenced by Lucius. Hermione, however, began wailing. Her high-pitched wails echoed off the walls and ceiling, racking Neville's brain. Her sorrow filled the room as she realized that Ron was, indeed, no more._

_Voldemort glided over, and Neville heard, with cold clarity, his next words. "Harry Potter, you see what this war has cost you thus far. Come to me and lay down your wand, or this one," he paused, stroking Hermione's face and wiping her anguished tears, "is next."_

_With that, he strolled out of the room, with Lucius trailing after, levitating Hermione with him to place her in her cell._

The wailing continued to echo in Draco's ears long after he floated out of the sequence of memories.

He fell to the floor of his study, heart racing, sweating madly.

It was a terrible, _terrible_ war, but Draco could finally see exactly how terrible it was for the side that fought so valiantly to save the Wizarding World.

Draco Malfoy, not for the first time, was filled with the utmost sorrow and the deepest regret for all the things he had done wrong in his life.


End file.
